


four walls to hold us, and a roof to keep us dry

by mxmushroom



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU Where Everything Is The Same Except Jon and Martin and Tim are Dating, AU Where Everything Is The Same Except They're All Trans Because They Deserve To Be!, Anal Sex, And I just think that's neat?, Author is Allo, Author is Nonbinary, Canon Asexual Character, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, I think?, M/M, Making Out, Martin Tops As Always, Multi, No spooks in this one! Just good old fluff, Non-graphic Sex?, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Pre-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Sex-Neutral Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Strap-Ons, They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans Tim Stoker, binders, polycule, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxmushroom/pseuds/mxmushroom
Summary: Before their first day as Head Archivist at The Magnus Institute, Jon's partners try to ease their anxiety.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Kudos: 41





	four walls to hold us, and a roof to keep us dry

**Author's Note:**

> title from "A Complete List of Fears Ages 5 to 28 (Aprox)" by The Yellow Dress  
> i've written jon smut before, but i'm not really comfy w doing that anymore, but they're HAPPY to watch their boyfriends have a good time! and their boyfriends are very cute, actually!  
> they/them 'nouns for jon here, because i kin them  
> i think tim stoker should be allowed to cook for his boyfriends  
> martin: shy in real life, complete fucking top in the bedroom i think  
> jon has adhd here because i have adhd and i love them

They wake to the smell of coffee and somebody’s hand in their hair. Jon starts to open their eyes, but the sun streams in too brightly through the half-open blinds and he groans. “Get off me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Martin’s speaking under his breath and Jon can’t help but smile at that, the quiet way he speaks, knowing how loud sounds in the morning will startle Jon and throw off their whole day. They prop themself off on one hand, kiss their boyfriend. “It’s Tim,” Martin says with a look of distress. 

“God. What’s he gone and done now?” 

“I told him not to. I really, really, you have to believe me, I did tell him you wouldn’t like it. Honest.”

Jon chuckles. The crease that forms between Martin’s eyebrows when he’s worried is so charming that they can’t help but lean forward and kiss it. Martin blushes. “Go on, get up, then.” 

Jon shrugs on their worn housecoat, fingering the hole in the left pocket as they do.  _ Shit.  _ Martin takes them by the hand and leads them out of the bedroom. Anxiety knots in Jon’s stomach; they have so much to do, so many things to figure out before nine o’clock tomorrow rolls around and they’re out of their depth in a job they’re not sure why Elias gave them in the first place. Whatever Tim’s up to, they categorically don’t have time for it. 

“Martin, are you sure you can’t just tell me?” 

The kitchen of the tiny flat smells of weed and coffee and something frying. “Good morning, boss!” cries Tim. Jon is ushered into a spot at their little excuse for a dining table, a cup of coffee and a plate piled high with mostly-unburnt pancakes shoved in front of them as Tim bends to kiss their head. “Big day tomorrow, Mr. Head Archivist! Ready to be in charge of me, are you?” 

Jon smiles, unable to mask their delight with Tim’s over-the-top affection with their usual air of faux-annoyance. “This really isn’t necessary,” they start to say, looking up at Tim. There’s a joint dangling between his index and middle fingers. “The landlord’ll be on you,” Jon chides. 

Tim shrugs. “It’s raining.” 

Martin sits, pours milk into his tea. “Nervous?” 

_ Starting to be _ , Jon thinks, but they shake their head. “No… I mean, I’m sure Elias wouldn’t have… if he didn’t think I could do it, he wouldn’t have given me the job, would he?” 

“Eat up,” Tim says by way of answer. Jon cuts into the stack of pancakes and pushes them around, not hungry. 

“Since when do you cook?” 

“Since I’m trying to be nice to my boyfriend, that’s when.” Tim puts on a false pout and crosses his arms. “You really ought to show me a little more appreciation, Jonathan.” 

“Don’t Jonathan me!” 

Martin laughs at them as Jon relents: “Sorry. I’m sorry.” They take a bite, speaking exaggeratedly through it as they swallow. “It’s great. Thank you, Tim. Really. Come here.” They push Tim’s hair aside to kiss him. Tim grins, places the joint between Jon’s lips. They’re not usually one for substances, especially after a few long, difficult nights in uni, and they’ve been off cigarettes for almost three years now, but they figure today, at least, they have an excuse for celebration. They take a long hit and cough violently. 

“That’s shit,” he says. 

“I know. David in research grows it. Bit garbage isn’t it? Dirt cheap, though.” 

Martin interjects, setting his mug down on the table heavily with a thud. “Well, even if you’re not nervous, Jon, I am.” 

The tense, performative flirtation Jon and Tim have been putting on drops out of the air as Martin’s face goes pink under their gazes. He squirms in his seat and looks down into the cup. 

“Oh, come on, love.” Tim’s got a gift for making light of things in a way that doesn’t feel patronizing, and Martin smiles up at him. Tim takes the seat on Martin’s other side and threads his fingers through his red hair, neglected and growing long. “This is good. Even though we’ll be stuck with an academic in the flat.” 

Jon scoffs, but they let one of their hands rest on Martin’s thigh, where their fingers entangle. Martin lets out a shaky breath. “Everything’s going to change, though, isn’t it? I mean…” 

“Martin, come on.” Jon’s notices how hard their voice is and reminds themself how sensitive their boyfriend can be to tone. “Nothing’s changing. Okay? I still love you, I just… I’ll have more papercuts now.” 

Martin rolls his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a bit weird, Jon, that Elias has technically made you my boss?” 

Tim says: “I think it’s sort of sexy, actually,” and Jon and Martin both say “not helpful” almost at the same time, which sets them all laughing. 

Tim takes Martin’s chin in his hand, tips it up so he can look in Martin’s bright, greenish eyes, and kisses his nose. “You’re cute when you’re worried,” he says, and Martin goes pink. “But we’re all adults here, Martin. We’re not having some kind of illicit office tryst--though I’m not opposed to them! We signed all Elias’ stupid paperwork. Okay?”

“Yeah,  _ okay _ , but…”

Jon cuts him off. “Listen, I don’t know why Elias promoted me. I haven’t been to graduate school, I haven’t even worked in a library before, and God  _ knows _ Gertrude’ll be a hard act to follow. I mean, she had the position, what, for decades? Martin. I…” They swallow. “If I let everyone know I’m nervous, they’ll never take me seriously.” 

“Oh, I dunno,” Martin says with a smile. “These make you look quite scholarly.” He toys with the wire frame of Jon’s glasses, and Jon bats his hand away, laughing. 

“Well, yes, that was the primary goal.” 

“I just think, you know… if we could keep whatever happens at the Institute in the Institute, y’know?” Jon hates how nervous Martin looks; their stomach twists at how loathe Martin is to set boundaries, to ask for what he needs. They press Martin’s palm, moist and hot, with their thumb. 

“Of course, love.” 

“If worst comes to worst,” Tim interrupts, “we do outnumber them.” 

Jon rolls their eyes. “Well, thank you for breakfast, love. I have quite a lot of reading to get caught up on if I want to be ready for tomorrow morning.” 

Tim tries to run his hand through Jon’s hair affectionately, but his fingers get caught on one of its stubborn knots. “Workaholic,” he teases. “I suppose we’ll never see you again, love?”

“Farewell, darling.” Jon hopes Tim doesn’t expect them to play along with ridiculous bits like this in a professional setting anymore. 

“When will my husband return from the war?” Tim swoons backwards with a hand on his forehead. 

“You two.” Martin’s terrible at pretending to sound exasperated. “I’m getting dressed.”

“On a Sunday!?” 

“I’m at least putting a shirt on, Tim,” Martin scolds. He’s just in his binder, and while it’s long to cover the soft curve and stretch marks of his belly, Jon knows that Martin has a very strict  _ if I don’t get dressed everyday I will end up depressed and unable to get out of bed  _ policy. 

“Fine.” Tim’s voice drips with performed frustration. 

“Speak for yourselves,” Jon counters. “I’m taking the very last day that I have not in that ridiculous blazer.” 

“You could buy more than one jacket, Jon,” Tim suggests. Jon doesn’t deign to reply. They migrate to the couch, opening their current read. It’s an at-length examination of inflation in Weimar Germany, and they’ve already used almost an entire stack of Post-Its marking up interesting passages they’d like to return to. Neither Tim nor Martin particularly care about this specific fixation, but they’re good about listening to them talk about it, even if it’s just offering enthusiastic nods late at night when they’re both exhausted but Jon can’t sleep. 

They’re about fifteen pages into a chapter on the workforce, holding their hair back with their left hand, their glasses low on their long, straight nose as they bend closely over the pages when they hear a giggle, and then a telltale thud and a creak, followed by another far more intriguing sound. They pause, rereading the same sentence about three times. The walls of the cheap London flat are thin; they hear Martin cry, “Tim” in a scolding voice, and then what they guess is Martin relenting as things go momentarily quiet. Normally, they’d leave them to it, put on a podcast or go out for a coffee. But they think, for a moment, about the longer hours and stress that await them in the coming months. And their boyfriends are so cute when they’re happily touching one another. Dog-earring their page--a habit they’d never publicly admit to--they stand to knock tentatively on the door. 

There’s silence, then Tim yells, “Sorry!” and Jon coughs. 

“No, that’s all right. Can I come in?” 

Silence again. “Yeah, course!” That’s Martin. There’s the sound of fabric, of shifting limbs, and when Jon swings the door open they’ve disentangled themselves. 

“You don’t have to do that,” they say. “I just… I thought I might watch?” 

It isn’t unheard of, but it is rare, and Martin goes red. Jon notices idly that he’s never dressed; if anything he’s made opposite progress, the boxers he favours abandoned on the floor and his preferred harness half-fastened around his thighs. 

“That okay, Tim?” Martin asks, and Tim nods with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“You really don’t have to ask, love.” 

“It’s polite,” Jon points out, settling himself on the desk chair and swivelling it so that it faces the bed. 

God, Tim is beautiful. The sun catches his dark, curling hair, the olive richness of his skin, the firm plane of his stomach, speckled with hair that trails downward. He’s fully naked, and Jon smiles at the vulnerability, the intimacy between the two of them. When Martin kisses Tim again, they both make a pretty sound. Martin reaches down between Tim’s legs and Tim sighs, shifts to give him more access. At the same time, he fumbles, as if intending to fasten Martin’s harness more securely, but Martin scolds him softly with a  _ tut _ and moves his hand aside, pins it down lightly. 

“Martin.” Tim’s voice is a whine, which makes Jon smile. It’s charming how easily Tim’s bravado crumbles when Martin decides it’s time for someone else to be in charge. They watch as Martin kisses down Tim’s neck and across his stomach, lets his tongue wander over the scars on Tim’s chest and his lips tease at Tim’s cock briefly. He touches him lightly, though not with hesitation; actually, Jon notices, this is maybe the most assertive he ever sees Martin. He smiles at the thought as Martin eases Tim onto his stomach and generously lubes the index finger of his right hand. 

“You all right?” Martin whispers, which makes Jon laugh, which makes Martin and Tim both turn their heads, and when their eyes meet, Jon feels a hot rush of affection for the both of them swell over them, and they rise, moving to the bed, where they lie down beside Tim, on their back, and kiss Tim’s cheek. 

“You look beautiful.” Their voice is simple, straightforward, and Tim grins. 

“Kiss me for real.” Jon obliges. Tim’s mouth is inviting, warm. They smile as they pull away, their hand wandering to stroke Tim’s back. 

“Tim. You ready?” Martin’s insistent, impatient, and Jon reaches up to thumb the other man’s cheek. 

“Yeah.” Tim’s voice is husky with want, and Jon moves, slightly, not touching them, but meeting both their eyes, watching them as they begin to melt into one another. Martin teases Tim’s entrance with his finger, then slides it in, and Tim moves his hips so his ass tilts back, giving Martin more access as he moves, slowly, rhythmically, and Tim sighs. His eyes flutter closed. Jon strokes the soft pouf of Tim’s curls and smiles. They tug at them and Tim makes a gratifying noise. 

It’s peaceful to just watch them like this, nothing frantic about it. The Sunday morning sun rises to its noontime height as Martin eases Tim open, readies him slowly and softly. Jon finds their mind wandering, remembers the three of them picking out this cock, specifically: Martin liked the shape of it, Tim liked the soft, smooth feel of the silicon on his hand. They watch Martin ease himself into Tim and the soft, quiet rocking they find together. They kiss Martin’s shoulder, his neck; he tastes of salt, sweaty. Tim works away at himself while Martin fucks him and finishes suddenly, with no fuss: he groans, shudders, falls still, and Martin rests for a moment before pulling himself out and settling behind Tim to hold him. 

Jon and Tim lay face-to-face, then, and Jon revels in the closeness of Tim. His eyes are wide, hazy with tiredness and satisfaction. His eyelashes are pretty, dark, soft. There’s a smattering of just-there freckles across his dark cheeks. The earring he wears glints in the sun. Jon kisses him. Then kisses him again. After a while, they stop kissing him, and Martin reaches across Tim’s body to stroke Jon’s cheek. They smile, let their eyes drift closed. They think they might fall asleep like this, until Tim whispers: 

“So, what’re you gonna wear tomorrow,  _ boss _ ?” 

Jon’s actually given this no small amount of thought, and begins to describe in detail the long tweed skirt, black turtleneck, and dark blazer they’re thinking of, because certainly they want to look professional, but the thought of a tie is simply intolerable, and… 

It fills them with warmth to see how Tim and Martin nod, make suggestions, affirm their fashion choices (though Tim objects to the Oxfords they’d planned on, Jon simply refuses to wear anything less formal, yes, even in an office which is technically located in a basement). The nervousness that’s plagued them for weeks begins to dissolve as they watch their partners. Everything’s going to be all right. They’re perfectly capable. They think of Elias, his cold, calculating eyes, and of the interminable, winding shelves of the archives that made them shudder the first time they laid eyes on them. So what? They think. Bring it on.


End file.
